Instrument of God
by thehush
Summary: Joan has been trying to finish a quest she's been fighting for centuries.
1. Prologue

**"Instrument of God" by Erin **_  
_

Prologue: Dear God_  
_

_"Why is it that when we talk to God we're said to be praying,  
but when God talks to us we're schizophrenic?" – Lily Tomlin_

Arcadia.

The name brings up picked fences, quaint Victorian houses, good schools, white wash churches, historic graveyards, and tradition. But considering the year, there is a lot more to the town than the name reveals. It hides broken families, bruised kids, and shattered lives. All anyone really has is his or her faith – and that is lacking.

Welcome to the 21st century. There are no more saints, no more miracles, no angels with white wings and halos. Only the insane have faith. Getting up in the morning merely a chore. Death is a hassle. Pain is weak. You live your life, you die young, and you make as much money as you can to get what you want. Drugs are like candy, liquor the poison of choice. There is no such thing as friends, lovers, or hope. Your family is your prison, while your school your mental ward.

All you have is yourself.

Until now.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One: St. Joan

"_I fear nothing, for God is with me!" —St. Joan of Arc_

There's a battlefield. It's always been a battlefield, she knows this, but there are more bodies this time. Blood everywhere, smoke and morning mist clouding the ground and sky. She feels heavy, like someone placed weights on her shoulders. Her hair is cut so short; pieces of it are falling into her face. Something long and difficult to hold is gripped tightly in her hand. Everything aches, everything but her eyes. They want her to look down at herself, so she can see what sort of body she's in, but she knows if she does she'll lose her balance and collapse onto the corpses at her feet.

Joan closed her eyes, picturing the warm sun on her face. She wishes she were home, or hanging out at the mall. She would rather be anywhere but here. Anywhere away from all this blood.

A voice not her own filled her mind. "_Mais quel est un mail, Jeanne_?" (But what is a mall, Jeanne?)

Suddenly, Joan woke to a dark room, the only light given by a small flickering candle. "_Où suis-je_?" (Where am I?)

A smooth hand took hers and Adam's face came into view. "_Sûr. Vous avez été blessé_." (Safe. You were wounded.)

"Adam?" Joan looked around, feeling a sharp pain in her chest. "_Dieu D'Oh._" (Oh God.) Looking down at herself she realized she had been stabbed, but to her amazement, that wasn't what was scaring her. She was in someone else's body. "_Qu'arrive à moi? Dieu_?" (What is happening to me? God? )

Adam shook his head, looking back at someone in the darkness. "_Appelez le docteur, elle est illusoire_." (Get the doctor, she is delusional.)

"_Ce qui? Je ne suis pas illusoire_!" (What? I am not delusional!) Joan tried to stop him but the sharp pain startled her enough to lie back down. "_Pourquoi ne s'arrêtera-t-il pas? Il est juste un rêve…_" (Why won't it stop? It's just a dream…)

---

_Arcadia, Maryland_  
"Joan!" Helen Girardi opened the door to her daughter's room to find her sprawled out on the floor, glaring angrily at the ceiling. "Joan, what on earth…"

The 16 year old sighed, awkwardly shrugging. "I'll be dressed in a minute, mom."

Only giving the girl an amused smile, Joan was left alone to fathom how she became tangled in her sheets bad enough to where if she reached for her alarm clock that she'd fall out. She laughed, figuring it had something to do with the weird dream. "Jeanne d'Arc. Fantastic."

Moving her arm, a sharp pain in her chest caused her to force herself back onto the floor. It was then that she noticed the bloody pencil in her hand and the red stain seeping through the bed sheets. "Mom!"

---

_St. Margaret's Cathedral_  
Arcadia had been covered in fresh snow over night. The white blanket crunched under her thick boots while the cold sent chilly fingers up her arms and legs. In vain, she tried to pull her coat tighter around herself, but the wintry air still filtered through.

"Mom I'm okay, it barely broke the skin. Really!" Joan waved off her mother's look with a laugh. "Come on mom, I've never been to Mass before, your making me nervous asking me about my cut!"

Helen shook her head. "I just want to know why you might have grabbed that pencil in your sleep, Joan. Dr. Keller says I should make sure your not having nightmares. Wouldn't you rather me ask you, than him?"

Joan sighed, looking up at St. Margaret's Cathedral. "Yeah."

Her mother's hand slipped into hers. "Come on, we'll sit in the back since this is our first time."

When they reached the door to the cathedral, they found someone had been waiting for them just inside. A tall, skinny pastor opened the door, welcoming them in from the cold. "Helen!" he gave Joan a pleased expression, holding out his hand to her. "You must be Helen's daughter."

"Yeah." They shook hands and she gave her mom a look. "What have you been telling him, mom?"

The man laughed, gently drawing her away from the doorway. It appeared that Mass hadn't even started; people were still coming in from the parking lot outside. "Don't worry, she just told me your name."

"Father Mallory, she's never been to Mass before, so don't… don't think…" Helen laughed, her awkwardness as clear as day.

He shook his head and smiled. "No, please, I would much rather you two be comfortable then sit up front. Some days, I wish I were sitting in the back listening instead of preaching." Briefly resting a hand on Joan's shoulder, he headed toward a door just to their right and disappeared.

Joan moaned worriedly.

---

Bright golden sunlight shown through the stained glass picture windows, the Saints' eyes shining down on the people beneath them like rays of hope. You could feel a presence there that sat with you and asked you what your troubles were. Traditional wood floors and smooth well-used pews reflected the gold trim of the alter that held the ominous crucifix before them. Joan stared at it, deep into the painted eyes and carved features. She wondered if she stared too hard, if she would see the figure blink.

The church was full by the time she had finished asking about the lit up people in the windows. "Their not all Saints, three of them are Apostles, five are Saints, and the last two, closest to the crucifix and where the sermon is held, are Archangels. You have the patron Saint of the church: Margaret of Antioch, then there is Saint Catherine of Alexandria, Saint Magdalene, Saint Agnes of Rome, John the Apostle, Saint Joseph, Thomas the Apostle, and Luke the Apostle." She pointed them out one by one, "And then the Archangels… Michael and Raphael." Helen laughed. "It's been a while since I've had to remember Saints."

Joan studied the colored glass, wondering what it all meant. Why were they up there? Why did it feel like they were trying to tell her something?

"It is so good to see all of your wonderful faces on this frosty morning." Father Mallory greeted from his podium. "I would also like to welcome any new faces to St. Margaret's. It takse great strength to find faith these days."

As Father Mallory began his sermon, Joan let her mind wander through the church. Her eyes kept going floating over to St. Margaret and then to St. Catherine. If she lied to subconscious, the two saints were smiling down at her, whispering inaudibly in her ear. But it was laughable, glass couldn't talk, but after the month and a half she had had, talking glass was believable.

Keeping her eyes on the two Saints, she let herself ask questions. _Am I suppose to be praying or something? Could you like, send me a sign that you're listening?_ She glanced at her mother, but the woman was lost in the sermon.

Someone slid into the empty spot on the pew and she felt the familiar presence of God beside her. _She's looking for hope._

_Then why don't you give her some?_ Joan looked over at the familiar features of the cute guy God kept showing up as. _You really like that body don't you?_

God kept his eyes on the crucifix, eyes filled with a mixture of emotions she couldn't decipher. _I can't explain your dreams to you._

_Omnipresent._ Joan inwardly sighed, laying her head back and closing her eyes. _Why not?_

_If I did, you wouldn't search for the answers yourself. What if I answered everyone's question? What would people do with themselves? Its good to ask, but sometimes, you can't expect to get an answer. This time Joan, I want you to find out the answer on your own. I have faith in you._ For once, He touched her hand, squeezing it gently before she felt His presence leave the spot beside her and fill the room once again.

_Aren't I suppose to have faith in you? Does it work the other way?_ She wondered, opening her eyes to suddenly find the church empty. "Whoa."

A bright light filled the place beside her and Joan jumped back as a glowing figure sat beside her. "Faith works both ways, Joan. It's a circle of confidence and reliance in the all being, while the divinity has support and trust in you." The light died down just enough for her to see it was the figure of St. Margaret.

"You're…" Joan shook her head. "Okay, no way, now I'm not only able to talk to God, I can talk to Saints as well. Just great."

The woman smiled, looking off towards the front of the room. "This is just a special occasion Joan, the Lord works in mysterious ways." She lifted her shimmering hand and pointed toward the alter. "God cannot give you such an answer to your question, but He can point you in the right direction. If you are looking for answers, I suggest you begin at the foot of this church's alter – where many a girl has began her quest, just like you."

The Saint faded, smiling warmly towards Joan before she was gone. Standing, she looked around to see if anyone had noticed that she was quite possibly talking to thin air. But no one came out of any doors or poked their head out from under a pew. She was alone.

Taking a step onto the aisle leading to the alter, Joan felt a surge of something flow through her. The room flickered briefly before it melted into a dark, stone built Cathedral. Candles flickered around its edges for light, but still the shadows of the room startled her. She took another step, this time towards the alter, and her skin felt numb for a moment before the fabric she wore changed and she knew she was standing in something relatively familiar. No armor or sword, no wounds or long hair – it was the dream, but before. Before the war.

"I don't know what I'm doing here." Joan walked toward the alter and saw her reflection in a basin of water set at the foot of the Crucifix.

_I have faith in you._

Covering her face, she tried to block out the cold room. "But I don't faith in myself. I don't know what to do." Uncovering her face, she looked into the reflection and saw someone else's face.

_Have faith in yourself, Joan. Have faith._

Closing her eyes, Joan took a deep breath and let whatever was trying to reach her come through. "In the face of your enemies, in the face of harassment, ridicule, and doubt, you held firm in your faith. Even in your abandonment, alone and without friends, you held firm in your faith. Even as you faced your own mortality, you held firm in your faith. I pray that I may be as bold in my beliefs as you, St. Joan. I ask that you ride alongside me in my own battles. Help me be mindful that what is worthwhile can be won when I persist. Help me hold firm in my faith. Help me believe in my ability to act well and wisely." She opened her eyes and looked at her reflection. "Amen."

Someone took her hand. "Joan?"

Jolting awake hurt her head. The sudden light and the realization that she had been asleep the whole time caused a part of her to ache. Dreaming was starting to be more of a curse that a blessing. Looking over at her mother, she noticed the usual worried look in her eyes. "What?"

Helen sighed. "You fell asleep. Why don't you go outside and take a breather. We only have ten more minutes till Mass is over. I'll just tell Father Mallory you weren't feeling well."

"I'll meet you at the car." Not wanting to stay a minute longer, Joan gave her mother a kiss on the cheek and snuck out of the church.

----

Being outside the white wash church, Joan felt better. Inside she realized she felt suffocated, like everything was trying to talk to her at once, but outside everything was open and less clingy. "Ten minutes. What can I do for ten minutes?" She looked at her watch before glancing around the grounds.

She figured she'd just sit in the car and listen to the radio before her mother got out but the wooded path into the cemetery seem much more interesting. Pulling her jacket a little tighter, Joan set off toward the path, periodically glancing up to look at the clouding sky. It would snow again tonight.

A familiar voice stopped Joan immediately, making her breath catch in her throat. "…and Dad's okay, he's still drinking though. But don't worry; he hasn't hit me or anything. He did throw a bottle at me once, but he apologized later. He really misses you, you know." Adam's voice trailed through the quiet grounds, circling her like the chilling breeze. "I miss you." His voice shook, making the cut on her chest ache. "Its so lonely here."

Slowly, keeping in the dark parts of the trees, Joan snuck into the cemetery. She hid behind the taller tombstones, watching as Adam sat in front of Elizabeth Rove's grave. Silently she wished something had reminded her that this was where his mother's grave was at – she had no business even talking to him. Not after what she had done. Not after what she had done out of her own free will.

Without warning, Adam's eyes caught her own and she felt herself die. It was like she had betrayed him all over again. The longer he stared, the more the pain echoed through her heart. "I know you're there."

A mixture of pain and guilt washed over her. "I…" Joan's legs made up her mind for her. They ripped her away from his eyes and rushed her off through the path back up to the side of the church, ignoring the cold tears stinging her face.

"Joan!" Someone grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to a stop as she left the cemetery.

Angrily Joan balled her fist and hit whoever held her hard in the chest. "I hate you!" The startled face of an older man in groundskeeper clothes shook her. "Oh no, I'm so sorry!" she steadied him, "I was just… oh I'm so sorry."

The man laughed, rubbing his chest. "It didn't physically hurt, Joan. It only made me sad that you're angry enough to want to hurt me."

"You…" Joan stepped back, her eyes losing their compassion. "You're the reason all this is happening. You made me hurt him. Why? You get me in to AP Chem., you get me to know him, you get me to tear him down like he's nothing!" She picked up a handful of snow and threw it at Him, but he easily dodged it.

"I told you Joan, I can't tell you everything." He quickly took her by the arms and held her in her place. "I want you to do as your Psychiatrist says today, understand me?"

Joan tried to get out of His grasp but stopped, feeling it was hopeless. "Fine."

He let her go, and backed off. "You're mother's looking for you."

Kicking a pile of snow, she started back for the church.

---

_Dr. Keller's Office_  
"Joan Girardi?" Dr. Keller's secretary smiled over at the girl sprawled out in her chair. Blue jean legs and Dockers hung over one arm, while streaked brunette hair cascaded over the other. The teenager made a face at a little boy sitting with his parents, laughing when she was greeted with an even better obscenity. "Joan, Dr. Keller will see you now."

She sighed, her body language clearly exasperated with visiting her Shrink. Slinging her coat over her shoulder, Joan entered the office and took her usual seat on the couch by the second floor window, tossing her coat onto its arm. Dr. Keller was already walking around when she decided to look over at him.

"Joan." He put his coffee cup to his lips but didn't drink. "You look more annoyed than usual." There was a shrug. "How are you and Adam?"

"Wow, you know how to win your patients over, sir." Joan glared up at him, mentally wishing he'd choke on his drink.

Pulling up a chair beside the couch, Keller took up his clipboard and wrote something down. He was young for a shrink, better looking than she would have thought he would be. But it didn't make him any less annoying.

"I thought I told you to at least try and talk to him." He shook his head and sighed. "You've been seeing me for almost a month now, and you haven't listen to a word I've said, have you?"

She looked confused. "Listen to what?"

Blue eyes rolled. "Joan." Keller stood up, setting down his clipboard again. "Okay, lets try something different. Have you ever kept a journal?"

Joan knew where this was going. "I'm not going to write in a journal."

A black composition book landed on her stomach. "Fine, don't write anything. I don't really care- but your parents do. Don't you realize your wasting your parent's money just laying there and glaring? If you don't talk to me, who are you going to talk to?"

"God?" she snarked back.

"Very funny." Taking a seat behind his desk, he opened up her file and started to take her papers off the clipboard. "Go home, Joan." He replied in a soft voice.

Something twisted in Joan's stomach and she suddenly felt horrible. He was right; she was wasting her time and his – not to mention her father's money. She might as well make use of it. Sitting up, the teen sat Indian style on the couch, spinning the journal between her hands. "I had a dream last night."

Keller looked over at her with an angry scowl. "Didn't I tell you to go home?"

She didn't budge. "I had a dream last night. I was Joan of Arc and I had been stabbed in the chest. Adam was a soldier who saved me…"

The doctor put his head in his hands and laughed, as if he had reached some great feat finally. Taking her papers back out of the folder, he clipped them back onto his board and scribbled down a few notes. "Do you-"

"I'm not done." Joan interrupted. "I woke up this morning with a bloody pencil in my hand and a nasty cut on my chest." Dr. Keller couldn't shield his eyes soon enough before she shoved down the side of her shirt to show a white bandage just over her heart. "Why did I stab myself? I'd really like to know cause you know normally when I have that dream I'm just fighting in these wars – this is the first time I've lost."

Keller stood up from his desk and walked over to the seat next to the couch. "You mean you've been having these dreams for a while now?" he sat down. "Maybe your subconscious is latching onto something that you related to in History class?"

"Maybe." Joan looked down at her hands and felt something tell her it wasn't that at all. It was something much deeper. Much more complicated. "Adam's never been in it before. This is the first time he's ever shown up."

"That happens. Your recent conflict-" he stopped, backtracking, "-fall out, with Adam, might have triggered him to show up as a soldier. Was he the only one you recognized? "

She nodded, feeling sick. "Yeah. I've always been alone in the dream." Joan felt her chest ache. "I'm always alone."

The sudden uneasiness was clear on her face apparently, for Dr. Keller stood up again and went back to his desk. "Alright Joan, that's enough for today. I want you to go home and relax, all right? Consider the journal and I'll see you back here on Tuesday."

Joan stood, slowly gathering her things and rushing out of the office.

---

_Girardi Residence_  
It was nearly twelve, but Joan lay awake in her bed, staring at the snow falling across her window. She didn't want to go to sleep – that meant she would dream again. Looking around, she checked to see if any pointed objects were in her reach for the thousandth time. Maybe she was safe tonight, maybe she wouldn't have anymore for a while. She'd be okay, she just needed to get some sleep.

Something scratched at her window. "Girardi if you don't open this window, I'm to be your own personal frozen gargoyle."

Joan sat up and saw Grace's figure outlined in the faint glow of the streetlights. "Grace?" Getting up, she climbed out of her bed and carefully opened the window. The tomboy crawled through it, throwing a backpack onto her desk chair and shaking off a cold jacket.

"Close the window, would you? I'd kinda like to keep my fingers." Grace shrugged off her coat, laying it on the floor beside Joan's bed and snatching up her backpack. "I plead sanctuary."

"From what?" Joan shut the window and climbed over her friend as she laid down on the floor.

Grace curled up on her coat. "None of your business."

Taking one of her blankets off her bed, Joan threw it over her friend before getting a pillow and tossing it over Grace's face. "If mom asks, I let you in through the back door."

A muffled reply came up from the warm pile below her feet. Grace took the pillow from off her face and shoved it under her head – her backpack scooting perfected over so she wouldn't roll around while she slept. "Thanks. I would have just slept in the car, but its… you know. Cold."

"Its okay. Don't worry about it." Lying back down, Joan turned over so Grace couldn't see her struggling to sleep. "See you in the morning."

Her friend was already asleep.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Angels

_"Make yourself familiar with the angels, and behold them frequently in spirit;  
for without being seen, they are present with you." - St. Francis De Sales_

_Girardi Residence_  
A high-pitched scream followed by a lower response jerked Joan into consciousness. Her blurry eyes caught sight of Grace rushing into her room and slamming the door. "Fuck! I'm blind!" she stomped around the room, eyes covered as if to block out horrible mental images. From the hall, she could hear her brother Luke yelling at her door. "What the hell! Why don't you knock!"

When Grace was done stomping, she yelled right back at the door. "Well why don't you put some clothes on! Who do you thing you are? Some Aztec Sun God?"

"Aztec Sun God?" Luke started to open door as Joan climbed out of bed to change.

She promptly threw her pillow at the door just in time to hit him in the face. "Get out, pervert!"

He fell back into the hall with a loud 'thump', Grace shutting the door as soon as the pillow was thrown. The muffled apology was the last thing they heard. "Sorry, Joan."

Joan shook her head, buttoning up her shirt for the day. "Forgot to tell you, on Monday's he takes showers in the morning. Its like, a tradition." Finding her jeans, she watched while Grace grumbled softly and rummaged through her backpack. "You can borrow some of my clothes if you want."

Grace's tone was indignant. "No thanks. I have my own clothes." She picked up a shirt and sniffed it, immediately making a face. With her back towards Joan, one could see it stiffen and the blond sigh angrily. "Damn it, all my clothes reek. I haven't been able to laundry in a week cause our washers broken." The next words out of her mouth seemed forced. "You think… you think I could borrow your washer and dryer? I wouldn't ask, but Dad… he hasn't…"

Joan noticed the muscles in Grace's arms flex. They were holding back the urge to pick up the backpack and throw it at the wall. "Yeah, don't worry about it. We'll let them wash during school and put them in the dryer after. Just look through my closet, there has to be something in there you won't instantly want to burn."

Her friend didn't say anything; she simply walked over to her closet and silently began to search through the clothes. Joan turned away, brushing her hair and putting on her necklaces. It wasn't until she began to put on her shoes that she turned around and saw Grace already zipping up a pair of her black jeans and a green 'Don't Ask' shirt. The color of the shirt lit up Grace's features, her dirty blond hair falling into her face.

"Just because I don't wear all those girlie threads to school everyday doesn't mean I don't like them. It just means I don't care." Grace looked over and smiled. "Stop staring, its not as if you haven't wanted me to dress like this at least once."

The two simultaneously winced before looking away. "Shut up."

---

Something had changed. Joan noticed this as Grace tackled Luke in the kitchen, the usually cynical mystique dropping long enough for her to see that Grace was flirting.

"Hey there Sexy Rexy." Her friend wiggled her eyebrows a little. "Wait till I tell all the girls in Chem what a stud you are!"

Luke looked panicked. "You are so dead!" he grabbed her around the waist and out of pure male instinct found her most ticklish spot. "You tell and I'll get Joan to drag you into the Gap!"

Grace looked as if she were having a hard time breathing. "You evil turd! Let- let me go!" she laughed loudly, trying to kick him. "Geek boy!"

A voice of reason startled everyone in the kitchen. "What is going on here?"

All three stopped what they were doing to find Helen standing in the doorway. Kevin was peeking in from the dinning room. The smile on his face could have melted the snow outside. "Nothin', Mom, just Luke and Grace flirting."

Kevin barely had a chance to get himself out of the dining room before Luke could hit him hard in the arm. Helen shook her head, giving the two girls a secret smile. "Joan, did Grace sleep over last night?"

"Sorry, Mrs. Girardi," Grace slid into her coat, "Joan and I needed to get some homework done and I came a little late. My Dad knows, so it's okay."

Joan nodded, putting on her coat too. "Sorry, mom, should have told you."

Mrs. Girardi sighed, looking them over. "Have a good day, you two."

---

_Arcadia High_  
The hallway was full of students. All different, all full of problems and potential. Gavin Price knew them all, it was his job. He kept them in line, made sure they weren't drifting alone in a fantasyland, and pushed them into whatever respectable citizen they could possibly be. But there were several he couldn't quite get to corporate.

Right at the top of that list sat Joan Girardi. The great crusader. Begging to get into Advanced Chemistry, hanging around with Adam Rove and Grace Polk – the next two on his list, skipping school to build a boat, destroying her own friend's artwork- the list went on. She was a completely nut job. Which confused him, because she obviously came from a great family. Chief of Police for a father, Secretary mother who could watch her, two brothers- a perfectly stable life.

But he watched her from a doorway in the hall. Ever since the incident with Rove's artwork, he started keeping an eye on her. No one believed him, but he knew there was something about her that wasn't quite right. A girl like her doesn't spontaneously starting becoming the sort of individual she had become. There was something loose in her head and he was determined to find it.

A brown jacket suddenly shook him from his thoughts, an unfamiliar young man coming up to Joan. Briefly, he considered asking the boy for his ID, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself. The boy was probably someone that tried to stay out of sight. It was possible, but few students knew enough to try.

"Joan." The male student pulled at Joan's jacket. "Hey, could we talk?"

Joan turned away from Grace. "Um, sure." She turned back to Grace and said something too low for him to hear before she followed the other student to a doorway. Price moved closer, looking as if he were watching the students pass by.

"I want you to put flowers on Elizabeth Rove's grave today." The boy smiled as if this was completely normal. "And make sure you take the gift Adam made you home."

Girardi sighed, looking off. "Why? So I can suffer not only going to school and seeing Adam hate me, but go to his mother's grave and hear him hate me more? You know, you being God and all, I thought my suffering would matter."

Price stiffened when he heard her call the boy, 'God'. Several warning bells rung off in his head as he waited for the two to part. "Have faith, Joan. You'd be surprised what a little of it can do." Without another word, the boy turned and walked away from her.

It was the boy's glance back at him that caused his heart to sink. Something was definitely not right.

---

"You know, you're getting really good at that." Joan walked beside her brother as they made their way toward the local florist. Her brother Kevin easily maneuvered around anyone who refused to show a bit of courtesy. She wondered if he would roll over anyone's toes for looking at them wrong, like the way he use to stare guys down if they looked her over. 'You staring at my sister, loser? You think you're good enough for her? Yeah I didn't think so, move along.'

Kevin shrugged, "Why did you ask me to come along. Aren't you a big girl now? You can buy flowers for your boyfriend all by yourself."

Instinctively, she hit him in the arm, making several people passing them give her a nasty look. "Adam's not my boyfriend! And these aren't for him, their for his mother's grave!" she sighed, shoving her hands into her coat. "Can't I just want my big brother to come with me somewhere? We don't… hang out anymore… What with work and all."

"I was kidding." Her brother's hand stopped her from going any further, causing several people to nearly stumble into them. "This is just… new." He laughed, looking her dead in the eye. "You get weirder everyday."

It was her turn to shrug. "I'm only sixteen, I'm allowed to change."

A smile played at their lips before they started back towards the florist, going in only after Kevin promised not to sit outside and smoke. The heavy scent of flowers come and gone hit them like passing through a veil. The lady behind the counter smiled warmly, finishing up a bouquet of various colors of carnations. "Afternoon, I'm Shelley. If you need anything, let me know."

Joan gave the place one confused look over before taking the clerk up on her offer. "Hi, I was wondering…"

The earthy blond laughed lightly. "Just tell me the occasion."

"Oh." She played with her necklaces for a second before looking down at the counter. "I need a bouquet of flowers for… a friend's… mother's grave."

A gentle hand swept over Joan's, patting it sympathetically. "That friend is lucky to have someone who cares." The woman slipped away disappeared into the room behind the counter. "Lets see, we'll use Cyclamen, they mean 'goodbye' and that you've excepted that they're gone. Maybe these will help your friend come to grips that their mother's gone. Some Forget-Me-Not, to show she isn't forgotten and then Statice for remembrance and sympathy…" coming back out into the store, she laid the flowers out on the glass counter, slipping two of each into her hand before stopping. "Something's missing." Shelley stepped halfway into the back room again before she was back at the counter, placing a white flower into the center of the violet petals. "There, an Eucharis lily, to show who the bouquet is from." Satisfied with the arrangement, she tied them off with a purple rubber band and wrapped the stems in silvery plastic. "There, one of my finest bouquet's yet."

Staring into the purple array of flowers Shelley had put together, she felt a sense of power to them, a feeling that wove itself into her as she took a hold of the plastic wrapping and took a deep breath. The feeling turned into a blanket of emotions filling her head with the snow covered graveyard and the stone slab that marked her friend's happiness.

"Thank you." Joan replied, reaching for her wallet.

Shelley shook her head, stopping her hand. "Don't worry about it. You seem like a good kid trying to help a friend out. Just promise me you'll come back and fill me in on how everything is."

"Uh-" The urge to ask if Shelley was in fact God in disguise caused her to bite her lip before mouthing a sincere 'thank you' and rushing back outside.

---

_St. Margaret's Cathedral_  
It was already five by the time Joan reached St. Margaret's, the flowers somehow still as vibrant and alive as they had been when she had left the shop. The walk to the church had been good for her, she had already decided on what she needed to say to Adam's mother and what excuse she'd give to her own mother when she came home late for dinner.

Taking the path into the graveyard, she listened intently for Adam's voice, but the only voices stirring around the stone markers was the cold wind that had picked up with the threat of more snow. Careful not to step on any of the forgotten graves leading to Elizabeth Rove's, Joan tried to let herself connect with the eternal world around her. It was the only thing keeping her from throwing the flowers down on Elizabeth's grave and running back home.

She had only ever found pain here.

Reaching the grave, Joan knelt down and propped the flowers up against the clean tombstone, making sure they wouldn't fall over onto Adam's small sculpture. "Hi Mrs. Rove, I'm Joan and these are for you. I know your son Adam… he's a frie- heh, to tell you the truth; I don't know what we are anymore. He probably told you all about that… or didn't. He's not the guy who would tell his mom about this really stupid girl at school… or would he? I'm sorry, I'm not really making sense." She sat on the ground and took a deep breath, the scent of the flowers and the cold earth wrapping around the graveyard. "I had everything planned out to say to you, and now it just sounds… stupid. I'm really sorry. I'm really sorry for a lot of things lately. I'm just… sorry." There was a bitter laugh somewhere in her voice. "Adam tried to drop out of school… and I had a failure of imagination. I guess that's the best way to put it – but really I just… destroyed a piece of art he did. I just… he couldn't leave. He just couldn't. Not because of Grace or me, but because he isn't done yet. He still has to show Mr. Price he's not some stupid stoner kid. He still-" she stopped, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to hurt him…"

Standing, Joan brushed herself off and placed a hand on the cold stone slab. "I wanted you to rest in peace knowing that Adam's a really great person."

Turning away from the grave, Joan felt something deep in her stomach unravel before the uneasiness went away. It wasn't until she made it halfway across graveyard that a familiar voice brought the knot right back. From where she knew she had been standing only seconds before, Adam now stood, his eyes on her retreating back. "Is she okay? Is she happy? Isn't that your gift? Talking to angels?"

Without looking back at him, Joan closed her eyes and tried to block the burning tears behind her eyelids. "I don't-" opening her eyes again, the sight before was breathtakingly too vivid for even her mind. Human shaped lights walked amongst the gravestones, whispering inaudibly in hopes someone could hear them. The tears that had started to well up at the sound of her friend's voice, now slid down her face out of fear and confusion. First God, then Saints, and now Angels? Ghosts? It was too much, too quickly.

"I'm scared…" she covered her face blocking out the glowing figures brushing against her. "What's happening to me? Am I losing my mind? Am I really helping people, or just hurting them?"

One cold fleck fell onto her hands, causing her to pull them away. Snow began to cascade down onto the silent ground, the figures gone, showing no sign of even being there. A gentle tug at her scarf made her turn around to face Adam before he began to take the path back to St. Margaret's. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

_Author note: "Aztec Sun God" reference from 'Real Genius', "Sexy Rexy" reference from 'Empire Records'._


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Blessed

_ "You have forgotten what you are." - St. Severinus Boethius_

_Three Days Later_  
"-Girardi. Miss Girardi?"

Joan shook herself awake, a gruff looking doctor standing in front of her. "Huh?"

The woman smiled, shaking her head as she marked something down on her clipboard. "Another restless night, huh Joan? Why don't you go watch TV with the other girls."

Still confused, she turned to look back at the room behind her – a clean, pale colored recreation area she had seen in the psychological movies Luke liked to watch. Five or so girls sat quietly around the couch, watching the old television that filled the whole room with the sounds of morning cartoons.

"-need to put her back on Ambien. Her doctor says she's still have nightmares about Rove." Joan glanced back at the nurses before turning towards the hallway of rooms a head of her.

Her feet scuffed the floor, her body feeling drunk off medication. She wandered toward a door near the end of the hall, its white wash finish shadowed as it sat ajar. Lazy sounds filled her head as she touched its wood surface, pushing it all the way open.

The rush of memories was sudden – the body of her friend hung lifeless above her bed, beautiful brown hair cascading into his purple face. He had done it with sheets – crisp white sheets that smelled like lilac. Notes, beautiful words that rustled in her room as the door opened and she felt her world freeze. She hadn't broke down immediately though, she remembered she had stepped into the room and touched his gray sweatpants, her hand grazing his feet and soft hands.

Joan's voice echoed in her head, memories lacing into one another like fine thread. "I'm Jeanne D'Arc!" the orderlies had dragged her kicking and screaming, her thin arms breaking loose once or twice – long enough for her to rush back into the recreation room. "I have come to take back France! These walls cannot harbor my faith!" The sudden desperation of her friend snatching her off the coffee table kept her from the nurses as they watched Adam Rove, drag her into a corner and calm her down. His soft hands stroking her hair made ever inch of Joan tingle with loss.

Back at the empty doorway, she stared into the room, remembering how she screamed for days. She had screamed so her prayers could be heard over the nurses. Over the pills. Over everyone else's. Why had God taken away her 'right hand'? How would she take back France now without him by her side?

---

Someone shook her awake. "Joan?"

Joan woke, her body going limp in Luke's arms. Somehow, she had ended up outside of her room, the door wide open as she stared back into it. The hall was dark but she could tell it was Luke who had woke her up. "-my head."

"I'm sorry, I forgot your not suppose to wake sleepwalkers. You just scared me." His arms pulled her up halfway so she could rest her head on his stomach. It was a strange position to be in – they had never been the sort of brother and sister who would clutch each other when the times were bad.

"What did I say?" she whispered, both wanting to know but fearing the answer.

Luke's arms held her tight. "Why has God forsaken me-" something broke in his voice. "You had a dream about Rove again didn't you?"

With all her might, she couldn't stop herself from crying. "He hung himself- we were in a mental institute. He said- he said he was alone."

For the longest time, they sat on the floor and listening to their heartbeats…

---

_Arcadia High_  
Adam couldn't help but notice Joan was not herself today. She sat beside him in Chemistry, pale and plain, like the gray sky outside the lab windows. She kept her head down, focusing on the paper in front of her as she scribbled things down. It wasn't until he noticed the words going down on the paper weren't even in her own handwriting – but in barely readable scratch. "Joan?" he looked at Grace who had been watching too.

"Hey." Grace shook Joan's shoulder – their friend just wobbled a little, her hand gripping the pencil tightly. "Joan?"

Joan looked up slowly, her eyes glazed over from fatigue. "What?"

"You're acting spacer than Modern Art Boy over there. You okay? You look like you haven't slept in weeks." Grace leaned closer trying to get a look at her friend's face.

The weary sixteen year old turned away, looking over at Adam with questioning eyes. "I had a dream about you- last night." She squinted, her hand crawling over her head. "My head-" sitting up, she leaned back a little to stand, but her body turned too far and Joan fell awkwardly onto her back, her elbow slamming onto the tile hard. She gave a short strangled cry before sucking in a deep breath. "Ow ow ow-" she squinted and laughed as if she were five again. "Angels-" she reached up with her other arm and tried to touch the lights in front of her eyes. "Adam look, angels-"

"Luke!" Grace called out as she quickly knelt down beside her friend. The class came alive around them as they turned to watch the sudden fall play out.

Adam wasted no time picking her up off the floor, her head drooping down and rolling onto his shoulder. "We need to get her to the nurse."

"No shit." Grace breathed, letting Luke into the small space they had between the table and the wall."

"Did anyone bring a lunch today? Or- I don't know- a coke? Something?" Luke took Joan's other arm and slung it over his shoulder, slowly lifting her up with Adam. "She didn't eat this morning- and I don't think she ate anything last night."

Ms. Lischak blocked the doorway as the four went to leave. "You can't just take her! What happened?"

Grace opened her mouth to snark back at her Chemistry teacher but Luke used his status in the class to charm his way through. "The fumes made her sick Ms. Lischak, we're making sure she gets to the nurse alright. We need Grace to open doors."

Ms. Lischak thought about it briefly before stepping aside. "I'll call Mrs. Johnson so she will be ready when you get there. Don't drop her-"

They were already out into the hall when Joan groaned again. "Somebody make the light stop spinning- I'm not floating am I? Cause that's kinda freaky."

Her feet dragging behind them, Adam and Luke carried her down the hall toward the office. Grace kept Joan awake, a strange babbling coming out of her. "Hey, hey- Joan? Jo? Look at me- yeah look at me. Lights still bothering you?"

Joan nodded. "Mmhmm."

"Well, I'd beat them up for you, but it would hurt a lot." Grace's hands searched through her backpack, while she kept her eyes trained on Joan's. "Keep your eyes open Joan, I know its hard."

"Mm- I wanna go home." Joan looked at Adam. "Luke, you think if I play sick, mom'll let me stay home today?"

Luke pulled his sister's face away from Adam's and toward his own. "Don't worry, I'm pretty sure she'll cave."

Grace pulled out a pair of sunglasses and placed them on Joan's face. "There. World not so bright?"

Joan looked back at Grace and laughed happily. "Grace! Grace there you are! You sure did give the doctors a start today." She face changed from light to dark in a matter of rapid eye movements. "But- but- where's Adam? He was with you wasn't he? No- no he wasn't- he got in trouble didn't he? He stole paint from the art room- and he- he painted a beautiful sunny field filled with- with- daisies! I saw him do it! The watch nurse fell asleep and he did it last night! I caught him and he told me it was a surprise for me. He wanted me to always see a bright sunny day- like the day we we're allowed outside in the garden."

She looked lost in the delusion for a moment before Joan turned her head toward Adam and gasped happily. "Adam!" her body suddenly gained what strength it had been conserving and leaped onto him. "I was so worried!"

Unable to support her, Adam and Joan fell onto the floor outside the office. "Joan, what the hell are you doing?" Adam looked partly scared yet almost in awe of the girl on top of him.

Joan's face was inches from his. "I'm sorry! I was so worried about you! I had a dream! You were so upset about something- you were so sad." Her eyes grew soft. "My dream… it said you hung yourself- and I thought- I thought when you weren't with Grace-" her consciousness began to fade again and a mixed expression filled her quickly paling features. "Adam?" she stared at him. "What's going-"

"I don't think this is the Nurses office, Mr. Rove." Vice Principle Price shadowed the two on the floor as he lifted Joan off the floor and began to take her into office.

A familiar face appeared outside in the hall, a sad expression haunting His face. Joan, her dreams still haunting her in her delusion state, grabbed onto the metal of the doorway and pulled Price back toward the door. "God!"

The familiar face wasn't startled at all. He knew she would call for Him- and He wished He could ease her pain. You wanted an answer, Joan. This is part of your quest.

Tears began to form in her eyes. "Don't go! Please God, don't leave me! Who are these people? Why am I getting their dreams?" she reached toward him. "Somebody stop Him! He'll leave if no one notices Him!" she tried to kick her legs, but she was too weak to really even hold onto the door. "God!"

Price pulled her arm away at the door and looked back at the stray student who she had started calling to. "Mrs. Girardi, calm down. You're delusional. That's just another student- and you're probably scaring him." However, the Vice Principle gave the boy a suspicious glare before taking Joan into the nurse's office, laying her down on the med bed.

Joan would not have it; she grabbed him by his shirt and tried to shake him. "You have to believe me! That's God! He tells me to do things- to- to help people! I'm not crazy! I'm not delusional!"

Helen Girardi pulled her daughter's hands off of Price's shirt and tried to calm her down. "Joan! Calm down!" she looked up at Price and shook her head. "I'm sorry, she's been going through so much lately." She caught a glimpse of Adam in the doorway, his body language awkward and afraid. Grace and Luke were already sitting in the nurse's office, Luke by his sister, while Grace sat with her knees up to her chin in a small waiting chair. "Adam." Helen reached for the boy attentively.

He slowly stepped into the room, skittishly dodging Price like the plague. The Vice Principle surveyed the room, considering sending all three back to class, but the calm they put Joan Girardi in seemed safer than nothing at all. "Excuse me, Mrs. Girardi, I have other business to attend to. You won't be needing me." He pointed a finger at the three conscious students. "But I want to remind you that this isn't free time. One-"

The nurse cleared her throat. "Gavin- no need. I will make sure they keep in line."

Somewhat satisfied, he left them alone. Joan was already calmly drinking a coke Grace had stashed in her bag. Helen drew Adam towards her, taking his hand in her own. "Adam, would you do me a favor?" The teen nodded quietly. "I need you to hold Joan's hand while I go call Kevin." He gave her a pleading look. "Adam, please? She's calm now, and as long as you don't provoke her, she won't become delusional. As soon as she drinks the coke she'll be able to sleep, anyways."

Caving, Adam took Helen's seat and Joan's hand.

Helen kissed her daughter on the head, reaching over to squeeze Luke's hand as she left for the main office. Joan barely noticed the sudden change in people around her. She let herself relax, realizing she had messed up royally. "I should have eaten mom's oatmeal today." She whispered, her head leaning towards Luke.

He squeezed her free hand, giving her look over. "Joan- this isn't just Hypoglycemia. It just triggered something bigger."

She didn't pull her hand away. "I'm not crazy."

Before Luke could push for an answer to his unsaid question, the nurse came over to the med bed and began to take her blood pressure. "Joan, breathe deeply for me. I need you to calm down, you're going to pass out- my God." The nurse looked Joan in the eye. "Your sure this is only a missed breakfast?"

Joan made a small whimpering sound in the back of her throat, closing her eyes behind Grace's sunglasses. "Can I sleep now?" her hand slipped out of Luke's grip she turned on her side, toward Adam, curling up into the fetal position. "I told you should have stayed home."

"I know." Luke replied, but he was lost in thought, piecing the things he knew about health to make anything he could, clear.

Adam's hand unconsciously laced itself into Joan's, a guilt forming behind his eyes. "What's wrong, Joan?"

The wreck of a girl looked over at him with tired, trouble eyes. "Everything."

Too drained to elaborate, Joan gave up making sense of her mission. The mission, at this point was too confusing for a sixteen year old girl who hadn't eaten anything in the last twenty-four hours and had had more visions that she cared to ever have again.

Maybe she would do better tomorrow. _Maybe._ She hoped.

---

She was getting use to war by now. The stench of blood, smoke, bile and loose waste tickling her nose. The sight of corpses at her feet, friend and foe staring up at her like the porcelain dolls she used to get for Christmas when she was little. However, this time, the world was different. She was still in the jeans and t-shirt she had worn that day to school – she was a white mark on a black surface. She stood above it too, the silent hill overlooking the carnage as if it were a quiet lake.

A gentle hand ran over her hair and grazed the small of her back. "Why are you still fighting, Jeanne? You can't keep helping others with the edge of a sword."

"This isn't me." She looked over at an unfamiliar young man whose hand had not left her back. He was a tall blond, face of a twenty something year old. He looked like someone she would have met at the park playing with his dog. The only odd thing about him was the large belt he wore over his jeans, it hung crooked on his hips, a golden glow coming from the side that hung low.

The man looked down at her, long blond hair falling into his face as it escaped his ponytail. "Of course it is. This is still a part of you Joan, even if your physical hand didn't wield the blade. Aren't the battles still haunting you? The lives of your men? Your friends? How many times are you going to come back before you realize that France is free and your duty now is to aide your fellow man? You are not a soldier, Joan, you never were. You have always been a little girl trying to help your people."

Joan looked back at the battlefield and felt sick. "But that's what I thought He wanted. Its- all I could think of. First the war- then the" Joan shook her head. "Why am I reliving other people's lives?"

He looked back at her. "Maybe they're trying to tell you something, Joan. Something they couldn't tell each other until it was too late."

"Who are you?" she asked, turning to him.

He smiled softly, a calm bravery clear in his features. "I am called Michael." Leaning over, his lips pressing against her forehead and she felt something in her settle down. "Find the road less traveled, Joan. I will walk with you all the way." Stepping away from her, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave her a relaxed smile. "Open your eyes."

Suddenly, a flash of wings and a flaming sword blinded her before Joan found herself sitting upright in her bed, a soft rain falling outside her window.

---

Her room was dark, the only light coming from the desk lamp. Her radio played low, a station her mother listened to humming softly along with the rain. It was cold in her room for once.

A figure stirred in the doorway, a familiar face looking up at her from the floor. "Jane?"

Inside her heart, something swelled, filling her up with a warm reassurance. "Hey Adam." She pulled the covers tighter around her legs. "How long have you been sitting there."

Standing up, the modern artist pulled her desk chair over to her bed and sat down. "Since school let out. You're mom said I could." He pulled down the hood on his sweater but zipped it up. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Feeling self-conscious, Joan pulled her hair back into a ponytail. "I just had a- a weird dream." Content now to look over at him, Joan felt her guilt and worry win over what reassurance she had had before. "I'm glad-" she closed her eyes and looked down at her hands. "I'm glad you're here."

"What's the matter, Jane?" His hand almost made it to hers, but it stopped short, resting on the soft blanket surrounding her. It was clear he hadn't fully forgiven her, but the friendship between them was suddenly more important than apiece of twisted metal. She was Jane again, and that's what mattered most.

Joan smiled, its falseness clearer than Adam's emotions, but something in her was ready to come out. Eyes lifting up to his, she made her confession in a strained whisper. "I talk to angels."

Adam took that in, his hand inches from hers. It seem as if he were thinking back to the day they met, lacing through every moment he was near her. A pain flickered across his deep eyes when he crossed over the memory of Joan destroying his art, but it soon died away and his hand seemed to inch even closer to hers. "You said- 'But, what if you actually could talk to angels?'" He looked up at her, studying her eyes. "That's why you said that."

It was sudden, his hand barely moved over hers before she clutched it tightly and leaned over to embrace him. Adam was left speechless as he sat, one hand caught awkwardly between them while the other rest against the back of her head. For once, she was shaking and he felt like he was the strongest thing in the world.

Resting his chin on her shoulder, he shoved down everything that told him to push her away. He had been holding onto metal for too long.

"You're blessed."

---

Somewhere in the Girardi house, someone poured over a thick book. A highlighter slowly going over Undifferentiated Schizophrenia.


End file.
